


When Steve Met Peggy

by BiteMeMarvelCanon



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:08:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiteMeMarvelCanon/pseuds/BiteMeMarvelCanon
Summary: For Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, it’s love at first sight. The only problem is, they’re on a  double-date with other people.An AU based on When Harry Met Sally, with Clint/Natasha in the Harry/Sally roles, and Peggy/Steve as their friends, Marie/Jess.  As this is a Steggy story, however, the focus is on Steve and Peggy. Note: you do not need to know anything about the movie to read this.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the tumblr 2016 Steggy Secret Santa for @agentpeggysrogers, who was lovely and flexible about what she wanted, but when harassed repeatedly by me, said she would enjoy a modern AU with Steve, Peggy, Clint, and Natasha. I really hope you like the direction I took this in!
> 
> I started writing this well before the tragic loss of Carrie Fisher, and I’d like to say that I think it was her fantastic work in the movie that inspired me to imagine Peggy in her role. I miss her already.

_Early December_

"You know this will probably be a disaster," Peggy said as her thick-heeled shoes clopped dully on the wet sidewalk. 

"That's what I love about you," Natasha replied, “your unceasing optimism."

"I'm not a pessimist, just a realist," Peggy countered. "How many people really connect with a blind date?  Name anyone you know who's together with someone they met on a blind date."

"Hmm," Natasha said thinking for a moment, "I know I know someone, I just can't think of it."

"I don't want to sound ungrateful; I appreciate you trying to set me up. Lord knows I haven't had much success on my own. It's just that dating's so tricky, and even when you know the person in advance, the first date's often quite awkward. I just don't want you to get your hopes up that I'm about to meet the man I'm going to marry tonight."

"I've got it.  My roommate from college--her aunt met her uncle on a blind date."

"Do you know them personally?" Peggy asked. 

"No, I just remember my roommate mentioning it once.”

“Doesn't count. You have to know them directly."

“Since when is that a condition?”

“It's hearsay, and that’s not very reliable.  Everybody knows that.” 

“Everybody who's a lawyer,” Natasha mumbled. 

“And I’m not saying that it's the other person’s fault,” Peggy continued.  “I don't think I make the best first impression.  Most men I’ve met don't really seem to appreciate my sense of humor, or maybe I don’t know how to tone it down when I’m just meeting someone.”

“Or they ask me about my interests and I talk about things like old movies or music or museum exhibits, and they look really bored.  I just don’t think my interests align that well with the average person.” 

“You just need to know how to turn that into a selling point.  What you're saying is that you're an acquired taste. That's what you should tell your dates.”  She affected a sultry voice and pretended she was shaking someone’s hand, “I’m Margaret Carter, and I’m an acquired taste.”

“Natasha! I would never say anything of the kind to some man I hardly know. And probably not even to a man I knew well.”

“Well, there’s your problem,” Natasha answered with a knowing smile.

“Seriously though, I think that your problem, if you even have one, is that you just need to loosen up a little and have fun.  You don’t even have to be yourself.  Be anyone you want to; that’s what’s so great about a blind date.  Be the woman who would say something like that, and see if you like being her.”  

Natasha had a point, Peggy supposed. “Are you saying I should approach dating with a sense of fun and audacity instead of cynicism and grim resignation?”

“Maybe.”

“But it’s worked out so well for me so far,” Peggy joked.

“Look, I don’t think that you even really have a problem.  You’re fantastic just like you are.  You just haven't met the right man yet.  And I have a feeling that’s going to change, starting tonight.   And you certainly won’t have to worry about boring Clint talking about old movies.  We were just up half the night last week on the phone watching _Casablanca_ together. “

“You watched a movie with him over the phone?  Are you sure you're not interested in him yourself?” Peggy asked, her eyes narrowing. 

“I’m sure. I've known him since I graduated college, even though we weren't in touch until a couple of months ago. If anything was going to happen, it would have happened already. We're just friends.” 

They reached the restaurant, and Peggy was grateful to get inside.  The rainy day was mild for December, but as they walked she swore she could feel the temperature dropping.

As they approached the table, Peggy was surprised to see one of the best-looking men she had ever laid eyes on. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a honest, boyish face and a blond hair falling across his forehead.  Please be my date, she thought to herself, please be my date.

As they reached the table, Natasha introduced Clint, and Peggy attempted to maintain a poker face.  Natasha always did have better luck.  Oh well, any man that handsome was probably kind of a jerk anyway, although she hoped he wasn’t, for Natasha’s sake.

 

***

Steve fidgeted, adjusting his tie as they neared the restaurant.  “Why did I let you talk me into this again?” he asked.

“Because you’re lonely and miserable.”

“Oh right,”  Steve said.  “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Anytime,” Clint said, clapping him on the back.  “And just so you don’t feel left out, you know I’m lonely and miserable too.”

“Yeah,” Steve said.  “But what I don’t know is how a blind date could possibly help me with that.  You know I’m not so great at talking to…female…uh, ladies that I don’t know.”

“ ‘Not so great,’ ” Clint repeated. “I guess that’s one way to put it.  Are you any better at talking to ‘female ladies’ that you do know?”

“No,” Steve said glumly.

“Don’t worry, I have a feeling your luck’s going to change.  Natasha’s fantastic.  Funny, sharp, and really perceptive about people, and so easy to talk to.”

“But you’re sure you don’t want to go out with her?”

“No. We’ve got a great thing going.  My first close female friend who’s stayed a friend. And I can tell her anything.”

“Uh huh,” Steve nodded, unconvinced.  Clint had been talking about Natasha an awful lot since they had started spending time together a few months ago.

They had been sitting at the table for only a few minutes when Steve saw two women approaching.  One was a redhead, very pretty, moving gracefully.  

The other woman, though.  Steve had never seen anyone like her. She carried herself like a queen.   Glossy dark curls spilling  over her shoulders, lipstick highlighting her perfectly shaped lips, a dress that showed off her figure to perfection.  It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, although he couldn’t explain just what it was about her that was so amazing.  The dark-haired woman made eye contact with him before they had reached the table; he hoped she hadn’t seen him gaping at her.  Then she tilted her head slightly and smiled.  Could she possibly be his date?  If she was, he owed Barton a favor, or maybe a hundred of them.

 

***

It was a nice restaurant, quiet and not too bright, with white tablecloths, but not fancy to the point of being stuffy.  Peggy was seated next to Clint on one side of the rectangular table, with Natasha and Steve on the opposite side.  Natasha had ordered a bottle of red wine to share.  Clint poured some into Natasha’s glass, and then reached for Peggy’s.

Steve stopped his arm.  "Peggy ordered a glass of white wine; I don’t think she wants any of the red.”

“Oh, sorry. I guess I didn’t hear that,” Clint said.  Peggy caught Steve’s eye and gave him that small smile again, and he felt a tightness in his chest.

“I would actually love to have some,” Peggy explained, “but I find that red wine has been giving me migraine headaches recently.”

Natasha and Clint both tried the wine.  Steve’s glass stood untouched, waiting until Peggy received her drink.  “This is a really good one, Peggy,” Natasha said.  “You should have a sip, or at least smell it,” she said, handing Peggy her glass.

Peggy swirled Natasha's glass around and then carefully smelled it.  “Mmm,  you’re right,” Peggy sighed, handing the glass back to Natasha. “It's a nice state of affairs when a woman has to indulge her vices by proxy.” 

Natasha and Clint smiled at her comment, but Steve froze, staring at her.

“That’s not my line,” Peggy continued.  “It’s a quote from—“

“ _The Big Sleep_ ,” Steve finished.

“You know that movie?” Peggy asked, astonished.

“It’s one of my favorites,” Steve replied.  “Everybody goes on about _The Maltese Falcon_ , but it’s just as good.  I’d say the script’s even better.  I just saw it again a few nights ago.  That line’s from near the beginning, when they’re in the greenhouse, right?”

“Right, with the orchids,” Peggy said. “I love that scene, but the interplay between Bogart and Lauren Bacall is even better, like when she says: ’You go too far, Marlowe.’”

“And he says, ‘Those are harsh words to throw at a man. Especially when he’s walking out of your bedroom.’” 

Peggy and Steve dissolved in a fit of laughter. Natasha and Clint gave each other sympathetic shrugs.

While Peggy and Steve were still discussing their favorite parts of the movie, and Natasha and Clint were debating what to order, the waiter returned with Peggy’s white wine.  It didn’t escape her notice that he had waited until she had her drink.  She didn’t mind that the others had started drinking, but she loved his old-fashioned manners.  As soon as she lifted her glass, Steve picked his up and toasted her silently.   The wine was chilled, but for some reason warmth pooled in her stomach.

 

***

After ordering their food, an awkward silence had descended on both sides of the table. “Steve,” Clint said, “Nat’s very involved with the arts.  She does public relations and fundraising for the New York City Ballet.”

“Oh, really?” Steve asked.

“Yes, I trained as a ballerina originally.  But being a successful one really takes over your life. You’re completely controlled by rehearsals, exercise, constantly answering to someone. It would be as bad as joining the army. I needed more freedom in my life than that.”

“The army’s not all bad.  There’s a lot to be said for self-discipline and learning to both take and give orders.  And it’s been my experience that if no one is in charge, nothing gets done.”

“Were you in the military?” Natasha asked.

 “Yes, for a number of years, and I’m still in the reserves.” Steve diplomatically tried to change the subject, “Does your fundraising work suit you better?”

“It does. I love the variety:  I get to be someone different every day.  I like figuring out what angle to use to get people interested in contributing, what to say that will get their attention.”

“It almost sounds like you’re saying you deceive people.” Steve said evenly.

“Well, the truth is a matter of circumstances, isn’t it?  It’s not all things to all people all of the time, and neither am I.” 

“It’s kind of hard to trust someone when you don’t know who that someone really is,” he observed.

“Are you saying I’m not trustworthy?” Natasha asked, more amused than offended. “I hardly think you know me well enough to make any judgement on that.”

“No, not at all,” Steve said, and fell silent.

While Nat and Steve were talking, Clint and Peggy were struggling to keep their own conversation going.

“So, what do you do for a living?” he asked.

“I work in the district attorney’s office.  I’m a prosecutor.”

“That must be interesting work,” Clint replied, thinking that it must be utterly dull.

“Yes, well, it keeps me busy,” she answered blandly.

Another long pause stretched out between them, as Peggy observed Steve and Nat.  She could only catch snippets of their conversation, but it seemed to be lively.  Maybe they were hitting it off.

“And you?” Peggy finally said to Clint.

“And me what?” Clint said.  He had also been watching Steve and Nat.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a freelance project manager.”

Peggy had no idea what that meant, and wasn’t all that interested in finding out,  but she still asked.

"I help different companies manage big projects.  I'm kind of a big picture guy; I see better from far away." 

Fortunately, Natasha had finished her exchange with Steve.  “Peggy,” Natasha ventured encouragingly, “Clint spent a year living in London.” 

“Oh, how did you like it?”

“It was great,” Clint answered.

“I suppose you got the chance to travel around Europe quite a bit.”

“Actually no.  I mainly got to see the interior of my office and the interior of various pubs.”

“I keep thinking of going to Italy,” Peggy said. “I don’t know why, but I just keep returning to the idea for some reason. I’ve actually even started booking a ticket, but at the last minute I’ve bailed out.”

“You should do it.  I’ve always wanted to go there,” Steve said wistfully, “I could probably spend a month in the museums alone.”

Peggy was trying to pay attention to her date and keep her eyes off of Steve Rogers, but she was fighting a losing battle.   

“What do you do, Steve?” Peggy asked, figuring that it would be better to ask him a question than staring at him in silence.

“I’m an art teacher.”

“I can’t say I really know anything about art, but I know that I love to look at it. I wish I could speak more intelligently about it, that I knew the technical terms to describe what appeals to me.”

“Well, anyone can learn to talk about techniques and composition.  But you can’t teach someone to love something if they just don’t feel it.  That’s a gift.”

Peggy smiled at him, not a small smile this time.  He smiled back.  She watched as his delightful smile spread quickly from his lips to his eyes, and then seemed to spread across the table to her, warming her all over.

She was suddenly aware of the fact that it was quiet at their table, and she had been staring at him again.  “You know,” she said quickly, trying to get another topic going, “I was at a little fondue place in Brooklyn just last week where they had the most amazing mural running all the way along one wall.”  

“What was so great about it?” Natasha asked. 

“I took several photos of it that I can show you,” Peggy answered, reaching for her phone.

“What restaurant?” Steve asked.

“Oh, it’s a little place called Lucerne.”

“You’re joking,” Steve said.

“No,” Peggy replied, puzzled by his reaction.

“You didn’t put her up to this?” he said, looking at Clint.

“No way,” Clint answered, shaking his head.

“What?” Peggy asked. 

“I painted it,” Steve explained.

“You’re not serious.”

“Yes, that’s in my old neighborhood.  I know the family that owns the place, and when they were renovating, they asked me to paint some local scenes along the wall.”

Steve and Peggy were hunched over her phone for quite a while, looking at her photos while he told her about painting the mural.  Clint caught Natasha’s eye across the table and gave her a look that said “Can you believe this?”  Natasha looked back, shrugging her shoulders.  At least half of the people at the table were having a good time.

 

***

Their dinners were served, just as they had ordered, with one exception.  Clint had ordered a pasta dish with scallops, but they had brought him what looked like an entirely different pasta dish with clams.  But he insisted he didn’t mind, that he would just try it rather than having to flag down the waiter and wait further for his meal.

“But they brought you the wrong thing.  You should say something,” Peggy said, looking over her shoulder to see if their waiter was around.

“It’s no big deal,” he answered. “Maybe I’ll find out that I like this even better.”

“But I’m sure it will only take a moment for them to set it right.  They should do something about it.”

 “Sure, but life’s an adventure.  I like to take it as it comes.”

“Clint’s very easy going about, well, everything,” Natasha explained with a smile.

Peggy sighed, but dropped the matter.  Was this man too timid to tell the waiter he had brought the wrong food? Or was he really so indifferent and unsure of what he wanted?  Either way she could hardly understand it.

 

 ***

The four of them came out of the restaurant to find that the rain had turned into snow.  There was only about half an inch covering the ground, but it was enough to turn the atmosphere outside from dreary to Christmasy.  It was unusually quiet out for the city.  There weren’t many people about, and the snow muffled the noise from those that were.  

“Natasha, look at that,” Peggy said, dragging her by the arm well away from the two men over to a shop window.  “You could definitely pull off that leather jumpsuit.”

“I don’t know,” Natasha said, looking at the jumpsuit appraisingly, “maybe in black.”

Peggy looked over her shoulder to make sure that they couldn’t be overheard.  “What do you think of Steve?” she asked in a whisper.

“I think that he was on a truly fantastic first date tonight,” she whispered back.  “It just wasn’t with me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You two really seemed to hit it off.  I told you I had a feeling your luck was going to change; I was just a little wrong about how.  There’s just one thing, though.  Clint’s still getting over his divorce, and I’ve been pressuring him to start dating again.  If he mentions going out again, just be non-committal.  Don't say you’re not interested tonight.”

“Oh, of course, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

***

“So, are you planning on asking Peggy out again?” Steve asked quietly once the two women were out of earshot.

“Again?  I’m not entirely sure I’ve been out with her once,” Clint replied.

“What do you mean?”

“It felt mostly like I was tagging along on _your_ date.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to—”

“It’s fine,” Clint said, letting him off the hook. “I think that the two of you have a lot in common.  And I think you should ask her out.  But I’m just a little worried about Nat. I’ve been pushing her to start dating again, and I’d hate for her to get rejected right off the bat.  Could you just wait a few days before getting in touch with Peggy?”

“Of course. Of course I wouldn’t do anything tonight.”

 

***

They walked a little further as a group, but it was soon time to head in different directions.

Peggy reached out to shake hands with Steve.  He wished there was some way he could contact her himself, but he would have to wait it out, let Clint bring the situation up with Natasha, make sure that no feelings were hurt.  It was the right thing to do.  As their hands made contact, he felt a business card on his palm.  “I thought I’d give you my card.  You never know when you might need legal advice, or something else,” she said, locking eyes with him. 

“Thank you,” he said, as he slipped the card discreetly into his jacket pocket without taking his eyes off her.  “I’ll be sure to make good use of it.”

As soon as they had gone their separate ways, Steve pulled out Peggy’s card for a closer look.  The front showed the usual information, her full name, official title, and work email and phone number.  He slowly turned it over, hoping that she had written something on the back.  He wasn’t disappointed.  On the back was another phone number, handwritten in a neat script.  Underneath it she had written “my personal cell, Peggy.”

Steve replaced the card in his jacket pocket.  He would have put it in his wallet for safekeeping, but he knew he would have kept getting it out during the entire subway ride home, and he didn’t want to risk dropping it on the dirty floor.  This way, he could reach into his pocket during the ride, pressing his fingers very carefully into the sharp edges, and reassure himself that it was still there, that he had actually met her.

The card was still burning a hole in his pocket when he got to his apartment.  Once he was safely in his bedroom, he sat down on the bed and carefully typed the number into his own cell phone.  Then he took a picture of it, just in case the information was accidentally deleted.  Then he put the card in his nightstand drawer.  He didn’t want to keep it in his wallet in case his wallet was ever lost or stolen. 

He opened the texting app and typed a “p” to check if her name would come up.  It did.  Of course he wasn’t going to write her; he just wanted to make sure that everything was working.  Clint had asked him to wait a few days, so he would wait a few days.  It was Friday night.  He was sure he would have plenty to do to fill up the weekend.  Saturday he needed to pay his electric bill.  That could take as long as five minutes if the internet was slow.  Sunday he always went to church.  That could easily take an hour and a half with travel time if the sermon was long.  And the rest of the time he would…he would…probably stare at her name on his cellphone, he thought, shaking his head at his own pitifulness. 

Clint was right to be concerned about Natasha’s feelings, but Steve was absolutely sure she wasn’t interested in him.  If their stilted conversation and the way she rolled her eyes when he talked about trust hadn’t convinced him, the quickness with which she insisted on splitting the check told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want this to be considered a date. 

He had said he wouldn’t ask Peggy out for a few days.  But she had given him her contact information.   He could text her his number.  That could just be considered common politeness when someone else gave you their number.  He had said he wouldn’t ask her out; he hadn’t promised not to _communicate_ with her at all.  He knew he was looking for a loophole, and he didn’t like that sort of thing.  It went against the spirit of what he had said to Clint, if not the letter. 

But as he looked at his clock, time actually seemed to be slowing down.  And he had just vacuumed.  He literally had nothing to do all weekend, and he was thinking he might actually go crazy if he didn’t contact her.

He wrestled with the ethical implications for about 15 minutes, staring at the back of the card as if it could tell him what to do. He finally decided it would be all right to just text so that she had his number.  As he reached for his phone, however, he was hit with a wave of doubt.  How often had he misunderstood a signal from a woman?

He went into the kitchen for a glass of water.  He caught sight of his coffee table, the one Howard had made.  He wished Howard were here to advise him; he always seemed to notice things that Steve missed that made perfect sense once he explained it.  On second thought, why couldn’t he ask Howard?  It was still early in California, not that Howard followed any conventional schedule.  He headed back to his phone.

Howard picked up after the first ring.  “What’s her name?” he asked in a cheerful voice.

“Since when is that how you answer the phone?”

“Steve, it’s not the 1940s.  You can see who’s calling before you pick up.  And you hardly ever call me, and by the way, that hurts my feelings, but we’ll come back to that, and it’s Friday night and three hours later there, and so I’m guessing it’s about a girl, and the fact that you’ve let me talk this long more-or-less confirms it.  So tell me about it.”

Steve outlined the situation for Howard as briefly as he could, explaining the double-date and describing the hand-off of the business card in detail.

“So do you think I could go ahead and text her?”

“Well, on a scale of one to—Don’t touch that! If you flip that switch you could blow up this entire room!” he yelled to someone on his end of the line.

“I didn’t realize you were at the lab.  Should I call you back later?”

 “No, I’m at home. What gave you that idea?”

“You just said—“

“Never mind.  On a scale of one to ten, how interested are you in this woman?”

“Conservatively, I’d say 100.”

“Do it. Text her and say hello.  If she writes back, keep writing stuff.  But don’t try to flirt; that always ends in disaster.  Just be yourself.”

 After he got off the phone with Howard, he wrote, “Hi, it’s Steve Rogers. I wanted to give you my number,” before he could overthink it, second-guess it, or just generally chicken out about it.

Peggy wrote back after only about a minute.  “Good to hear from you. Did you get home safe and sound?”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief.  Even he could answer a straightforward question, and ask something similar back.  They continued on with small talk for a few minutes.  He was just starting to get nervous again that they would run out of topics when she wrote, “I think I’d like another art appreciation lesson. Are you free tomorrow afternoon?” 

He hadn't prepared for this.  Again, he thought about the fact that he had told Clint that he wouldn't ask her out.  But he hadn't said anything about what he'd do if she asked him out.  And unless Peggy was a really bad friend and not a very nice person, it must be ok with Natasha.  

"I'd love that," he wrote back. "What did you have in mind?"

 

*** 

Natasha called Peggy early the next day for further debriefing.  Natasha had already spoken with Clint the night before, and confirmed that he had no problem with Steve and Peggy going out if they were interested in each other.  But she wanted to double-check with Peggy that it was ok to pass her number along to Steve.  Peggy was embarrassed, but had to admit that she had given him her card, that he had texted her, and that she had already asked him out.

“So it wasn't temporary insanity?"  Natasha asked.  "You actually want to go out with him?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I mean, he seems like a decent human being and all.  And I can see that the two of you connected about the movie and the painting, and everything, so I could see how you might want to be friends, but isn’t he a little too…” Natasha left the sentence unfinished.  She knew what she wanted to say, but not quite how to say it in a way that wouldn’t offend Peggy.

“A little too what?”

“Ah, a little too, I don’t know, boy-scoutish? Like he would probably want to call your father to ask permission to hold your hand.”

Peggy laughed.  

“And to be blunt,” Natasha continued, “I don’t think that men like that are ever any good in bed.”

“Well I’ll let you know after I’ve slept with him.”

“Peggy Carter!” Nat said in mock horror, “I’ve never heard something so racy coming out of your mouth.  Come to think of it,” she continued after a pause, “maybe you are a good match.  You’re both kind of…”

“Charmingly old-fashioned?”

“Yes,” Nat said, smiling, “you took the words right out of my mouth.”

 

***

Peggy Carter had never had stars in her eyes.  She didn’t believe in love at first sight or soul mates.  She wouldn’t dispute another person’s experience, but she was sure that, at least for herself, a relationship should proceed slowly and carefully, according to reasonable steps that involved carefully considering another person’s character, life style, and goals to determine their compatibility.

Peggy had believed this even as a teenager, then as a college student, then as a law school student, then as a new lawyer and young adult, then as a not-so-young adult.  She believed this as she walked to the restaurant that night with Natasha.  During dinner, if someone had asked her, she probably still would have at least said that she believed it, although someone who knew her well would have noticed that she didn’t seem as confident as she usually did.

That night, as she got ready for bed, she might have allowed that maybe a person could have that kind of experience of meeting someone who you just knew was right for you, but she still would have said that you couldn’t listen to crazy feelings like that; they were just feelings, and would not in any way predict the success or failure of a relationship.

By Saturday afternoon, about an hour into her date with Steve Rogers, she would have told you that what she had believed her whole life was wrong.

They had gone to an art exhibit, and then to a cafe, where they talked for two hours over coffee.  Some of their conversation was like the previous night, discovering common interests.  Some of it was the same getting-to-know-you conversation that they had each had with dozens of people over the years, but telling it to each other was somehow fresh and new and interesting.  Peggy had never been so comfortable with someone she had just met; nor had she ever been so immediately smitten.  It was an intoxicating combination.  He asked her out to dinner and she accepted immediately.

When they stepped out of the cafe, it was snowing again.  Tiny, soft white crystals landed all over Peggy’s hair, each lingering for a moment before melting.  Steve was staring at her as they walked along, wondering if it would be too forward to reach for her hand.  He had just about decided to try when Peggy grabbed his hand and pulled him into the doorway of a shop that was closed.  Standing so close to him that their bodies brushed against each other, she grabbed the lapels of his jacket, pulling him down slightly at the same time that she went up on her tip toes and gave him a quick kiss.

He was momentarily taken aback, but very pleased.  She had no sooner lowered herself away from him that he was bending down to kiss her.  The kiss he gave her was in many ways the opposite of the one she had given him.  Her kiss was quick and impetuous, their lips crashing together for a brief moment.  His kiss was slow and serious and full of intention, and left both of them a little breathless, and more than a little bit dazed, when they finally parted.

 

***

_Late December_

As she leaned back in her bed wearing nothing but a sheet, Peggy chuckled softly to herself.  Nat had never been more wrong, not that Peggy had been worried about it. 

“What are you laughing about?” Steve asked, propping himself up on one arm.  As he shifted position, the sheet slid lower on his body, showing off the entirety of his bare chest, which Peggy was embarrassed to admit that she was a little obsessed with.

“Nothing,” she answered, lightly brushing her fingertips across his shoulders, then his collarbone. “I was just thinking about something Natasha said to me once,” she said distractedly, her fingers grazing his upper chest, then trailing down to his abdomen.  

He breathed in sharply.  Then he leaned forward forward to press soft kisses down her neck, agonizingly slowly.  “If you still have room in your head to think about something Natasha said,” he whispered between kisses, his lips moving to her collarbone, and then lower, relentlessly kissing, brushing her with his lips, breathing her in,“then we’re clearly not done yet.”  He shifted his position, pulling her underneath him.  

Peggy forgot about what Natasha had said, and that Natasha existed, and that anything existed, except for the two of them.

 

***

 _January_  

It was early, still dark outside. Steve reluctantly sat up and swung his feet out of the bed.  “I suppose I should get home and change clothes,” he said.

The fact that he had said “home” struck Peggy in a way it hadn’t ever before.  She wanted his home to be where she was.  Even though he had been staying with her almost every night and kept some things at her apartment, circumstances often forced him to shuttle back and forth between their apartments. 

She scooted over towards him on the bed, still lying down, and wrapped her arm around his waist.  “I want this to be your home,” she said simply.

“Are you saying you want to move in together?” he asked seriously.

“Yes,” Peggy answered, surprising herself.  She hadn’t intended to bring this up; she hadn’t really even thought it through herself.  But there was only one honest answer to what he had asked.  She did want him with her, all the time.  She didn’t just want to spend time with him, or sleep with him. She wanted to build a life together with him.

Steve hadn’t responded.  Maybe it was too soon.  Every other time that she had taken a chance with him, it had worked out, but maybe she had pressed her luck too far this time.

 “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with just living together,” he finally said.

“That’s ok, I—“ Peggy started to say, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Will you marry me?” 

“Yes.”

They just looked at each other for a long moment.  Everything in their relationship had been natural and easy.  Could this last biggest step be just as easy?

“So we’re getting married,” she said, smiling.

“Yes,” Steve said, smiling back, starting to laugh.

“What?” she asked, starting to laugh herself, even though she wasn’t sure why.

“I just can’t believe that it’s this easy.  I lived all these years thinking that it was hard to be in a relationship with someone, when actually the only hard part is finding the right partner,” he said, turning serious again and taking her hand in his.  

“Steve,” was all she could manage to say, sitting up and touching his cheek.

He brushed her ring finger.  “I still want to propose properly, with a ring and everything.”

“I love you,” she said, putting her arms around his neck.

“I love you, too,” he answered, pulling her close.

  

***

_February_

The coffee table was round, with alternating red and white concentric circles.  In the center, there was a blue circle with a white star.  And it was the loudest, most garish, most awful thing that Peggy had ever seen.  

And there it sat, in the middle of her carefully designed, pastel-toned, cottage-style living room, gleaming atop her blonde wood floors.  A red, white, and blue monstrosity that ruined the soothing atmosphere she had worked so hard to create.

So far, the coffee table had been the only real point of contention in their merging of households and of lives.  They had agreed on where to live (her apartment), what kind of wedding to have (very small and mostly traditional), where to go on their honeymoon (Italy).  She was in sync with him more than she had ever been with anyone, more than she had realized was possible.  But that coffee table.  He was quite attached to it; Howard, one of his college friends, had made it for him.  He thought it looked fine in the living room:  an interesting, quirky contrast to Peggy’s decor.

In his eclectically furnished apartment, full of second-hand furniture, it had looked quirky and whimsical, and Peggy had actually kind of liked it.  But in her living room, it was an eyesore.  At this moment, she hated it so viscerally that if she had a gun, she would have emptied every bullet into it.

Not that even bullets would probably have done much damage.  On top of everything else, the table was made of metal.  If you set something down on it with the least bit of force, you could easily break it.  Peggy had already lost a wine glass to it.

She had to tell him.  She really didn’t want to; she knew he had made more compromises than she had since he was moving into her place, and she wanted him to feel at home there.  She hadn't thought it would look as bad as it did.  But she had to say something, or every time she looked at it she would be filled with silent resentment.  She steeled herself for an unpleasant conversation.

“Steve darling, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think this table looks quite right in our living room,” she began, carefully avoiding the use of words like ‘my’ or ‘your’.  “It’s not that I don’t like it,” she continued, “it’s that I just don't think it fits in very well in this room.”

“Hmm,” he said, taking a long look at the table and the rest of the furniture.  “I don’t know, I think it looks great in here.”

“Nat and Clint should be over soon.  Why don’t we ask for their opinions?”

“That’s a good idea.”

Once there was no longer any expectation of becoming romantically involved, the four of them had gotten along very well.  Qualities that were deal-breakers in a potential mate turned out to be no problem at all for close friends.

"It looks like a furniture showroom in here," Clint said as he came in the door and handed Steve a large plant.  "Congratulations," he said in a monotone.

"Yes, we're still working out what goes where and what we need to get rid of," Peggy explained.

Nat had barely set foot in the living room when her eyes went immediately to the table.  “You’re not keeping that there, are you?”

“We were just discussing that,” Peggy said diplomatically.  “What do you think?”

“Well, for starters, it looks like the Fourth of July threw up in the middle of your living room.”

“What’s wrong with the Fourth of July?  That’s my birthday.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Rogers,” Nat said, shaking her head.

Steve looked to Clint for help.  “I don’t think it’s so bad,” he offered, uncharacteristically subdued, sitting down in an armchair that had been left halfway across the room.

“I mean, it could work,” Natasha continued, obviously enjoying herself, “As long as you’re willing to redo the entire room in red, white, and blue, and to wear matching outfits.”

“We started out like this, you know,” Clint said.  The other three turned in his direction, noticing his change in tone.

“We just ran into his ex. She was with someone,” Natasha explained to Steve and Peggy.  Walking over to Clint, she added, “I know you’re upset, but this isn’t the time or the place.”

Clint stood up, ignoring her.  “Right now, everybody’s happy.  Everybody’s in love.  But someday, you’ll be arguing over who gets this, who gets that.  Put your names in your books now, before everything gets mixed up, before it all goes to hell.”

“One day, you’re going to be fighting over that godawful coffee table,” Clint said, raising his voice.

“I thought you liked it,” Steve said.

“I was being nice,” Clint yelled as he slammed the apartment door.

Natasha quickly excused herself and went after him.  Apparently Clint wasn't easy going about everything, Peggy thought.  She was really starting to like him.

Peggy sighed as she walked back to the living room.  “When is he going to realize that he’s got the perfect person for him right under his nose?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “When’s she going to realize it?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, sitting down close to him on the sofa.  He put his arm around her, and she snuggled into him contentedly.

“So I guess the votes are in, and we won’t be using this as our coffee table,”  Steve said.  “Like many great artists, I’m ahead of my time.  I’m the only one that can see how perfect it is for this room.”  

He hadn’t told her the other reason he liked the coffee table.  Every time he looked at it, he thought about how he had called Howard for advice the night they met, and then he would remember what it was like before they were together, and it was like discovering her all over again.  He would tell her, sometime soon.

“I don’t want you to get rid of it or anything like that, darling,” Peggy said.  “We can put it in the storage area downstairs.  And when we start a family and maybe move to a larger place, we could have it in another room.”

“We don’t have to wait for that.  Howard designed it so that the legs come off. I can put them in storage, and we can hang it on the wall in another room for now.”

“What room would you like to put it in?” Peggy asked with concern.

“How about over our bed?”

 

***

_Early December, one year later_

Steve and Peggy walked hand-in-hand towards the restaurant, the same one they had met at a year before.  As smoothly and as quickly as Steve and Peggy's relationship had progressed, Clint and Natasha's was drawn-out and rough.  But things had worked out in the end.

“So Clint never told you what he said to her when they got engaged?”  Peggy asked.

“No,” Steve answered.

“He burst in to that party she was at and told her he loved her,” Peggy continued. “And then he said, “When you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start right away.  Isn’t that lovely?”

Steve stopped walking and pulled her close.  He took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly.  “I know exactly what he means,” he said, looking into her eyes.

Natasha and Clint were already at the table when they arrived.  Peggy and Steve had invited them out to dinner to celebrate their engagement, and for fun they had suggested going to the same restaurant where the four of them had been a little over a year ago. 

Peggy had ordered a bottle of champagne to toast the newlyweds, but before she could begin her toast, Natasha raised her glass.  "To Peggy and Steve.  If either of you had been remotely interested in either of us, we wouldn't all be so happy right now.”

They all clinked glasses and smiled.  At least there was one thing that they all were in perfect agreement on.

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of people have commented that they have not seen the movie, so I thought I'd add a note about what I took from it. The two main parts that I borrowed are the initial double date, and the dispute about the coffee table. 
> 
> If you are interested, both of these scenes are available on line by searching the movie's title and the words "double date" or "coffee table". The double date in the movie is hilariously awkward, and the coffee table in the movie is made out of a wagon wheel.


End file.
